


Mandos' Mirrors

by Baccadoro



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Baby Fíli and Kíli, Battle of Five Armies, Gen, I made myself sad, Uncle Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 18:18:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baccadoro/pseuds/Baccadoro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Battle of the Five Armies comes to its tragic epilogue, Thorin remembers his past, when war was only a game for his young nephews.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mandos' Mirrors

They say Mandos’ doors are covered in mirrors.

So, when you have no future, you can look in the glass at the reflection of your past.

 

 _“_ I _am playing uncle Thorin!” the young dwarf’s tone admitted no objection._

 _“No!_ I _want to be Uncle!” his brother threw himself at him with all the strength he was capable of, forcing him to retreat a couple of steps._

_“I’m the eldest, it’s my turn!” said Fíli, closing the gap and looming over the other dwarf._

_“But you don’t look like uncle Thorin, you have blonde hair!” whined Kíli._

_“You can play uncle Frerin, Kíli” Fíli suggested, adopting a more diplomatic approach._

_“But Fíli, uncle Frerin died at Azanulbizar!” The little brother didn’t want to give up without a fight._

 

And we are going to die here, aren’t we? At the foot of our Mountain, under the gaze of Erebor…

 

_The two young dwarves were so absorbed in their argument that they didn’t notice the front door had been opened and closed. Thorin Oakenshield had returned home, taken off his cloak and hung it beside the fireplace, before standing to watch his nephews with fondness in his eyes._

_“If you don’t want to be uncle Frerin, you can be Dáin Ironfoot” the older brother lowered his voice in a whisper, “he slew Azog with his red axe and avenged Grandfather”._

_The last sentence was followed by a swift blow to an imaginary enemy, his toy sword a flash of wood._

_“_ Nobody _is better than Uncle Thorin! He defeated hundreds of orcs with only an oaken shield!” cried out Kíli with enthusiasm, lifting on the tip of his toes to look his brother in the eyes._

 

When had he become taller?

 

_Fíli raised his sword again…_

_“So, tell me why you two are fighting”_

_The children were took by surprise and turned towards the familiar voice. Fíli had the brightest smile painted on his face, Kíli rushed and hugged the dwarf’s leg shouting “Uncle Thorin!”_

_Thorin placed his left hand on Kíli’s head and his right one on Fíli’s shoulder, then he lowered himself to their level and asked for the second time:_

_“what’s the matter between you two, my nephews?”_

_Kíli answered first: “Fíli is mean, he always wants to be in charge!”_

_Fíli ignored him and replied: “my brother is stupid and doesn’t know how to play at war”_

_Thorin had to suppress a smile, looked them both in the eyes and said: “nobody here is stupid or mean. A brother is the most precious of treasures in life, and in small things as in the biggest ones you must rely on each other. Surely you don’t believe you can slain so many orcs by yourselves?”_

 

No, they had never been stupid or evil. But what about me? Foolish enough to believe I could defend the Mountain with twelve dwarves; cruel enough to drag my own nephews to die on the battlefield with me.

 

_“We were playing the Battle of Azanulbizar but we both want to be you, Uncle Thorin, Kíli doesn’t like anyone else. What should we do?” Fíli explained._

_“Let’s do that I am Thorin and you are my good obedient little warriors” said Thorin, and everyone agreed._

_“Uncle, was Dáin’s axe red or did it become red because of blood?” asked Kíli with a child’s morbid curiosity of gruesome details._

_“Dáin’s favourite axe was made of amaranth and its hilt was covered with rubies, but that day it glistened with the blood of our enemies; and of Azog, the Defiler”._

 

Blood. Thorin’s hands are covered in it. But who it belongs to?

Fíli has a wound on his head, probably caused by a mace blow. His golden hair are soaked in blood. Thorin shakes his nephew with his good arm. Fíli raises his eyes with effort.

“Thorin, do you remember…”

I remember when all of this was only a game. But I cannot remember when it became real.

“Fíli, can you walk?”

The young dwarf laughs and Thorin curses in his mind for the vain hope.

“I couldn’t take a single step. Kíli?”

 

Kíli had always wished he could prove his worth, being the last of a glorious line.

 

_He rushed in front of his brother, protecting him from the assaults with endless energy; until a blow threw him on the ground._

_“Kíli, run! Your sword is broken!” cried Fíli with worry in his voice._

_“I’m not a coward, Fíli. I’ll take my bow and defend you from behind”, replied the younger brother, getting back on his feet._

_Fíli stopped, glared at his brother and said: “you cannot have a bow, Kíli. It’s an elvish weapon!”._

_Thorin hurried to intervene: “Kíli can have a bow, if he so wishes. All dwarves know how to use it, but only few can master it”._

_Kíli turned to Thorin, full of determination. “I’ll be the best archer you’ve ever seen, Uncle! No elf will be able to beat me! And no enemy will ever come near us!”._

 

The bow. Where’s his bow? He should have never got so close. He should have covered us from above, not come down to our side.  
Now he is putting some pressure on his leg, trying to stop the bleeding from a gash, panting.

“Kíli, where did you leave your bow?”.

“They were too many, Thorin. I finished the arrows, I’m sorry”, he exhales, struggling in the attempt to face the other dwarf, his desire to apologize stronger than pain.

 

_“Did we force them back, Uncle Thorin?”, asked Fíli._

_“They’re running away! Let’s go after them! Du bekar!”, Thorin urged his nephews._

_“Baruk Khazâd!”, replied Fíli._

_“Khazâd ai-mênu”, shouted Kíli._

_And they moved forward._

 

The war cry echoes in the air. Can it be? Did they actually win? Leaning back on the ground, he recognizes those dark shapes in the sky. The Eagles. But they won’t save them this time, not the three of them.  
Kíli lets go of his leg and tries weakly to catch his attention.

“You are my brave little warriors and I’m so proud of you”.

 

And he remembered. The time in which his nephews’ desire was to be like him.  
Thorin Oakenshield, hero of the Battle of Azanulbizar.

 

“Kíli? Kíli…”, a request first, then a cry of pain. Fíli is shocked by his brother’s sudden stillness. He stretches out trying to shake Kíli with the little energy left in him.  
Thorin sees hope leave Fíli’s eyes, tears sparkling on his eyelashes. And then, in his last instant of life, a name…

“Bilbo…”

The hobbit?

It is enough. Thorin understands and he will grant Fíli’s death wish. He can still right one wrong, with the time he bought with his nephews’ lives. But first he whispers:

“I will see you both soon, my sons”.

He smiles at the approaching beast, knowing he will not fail anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, kneelingtothenorthernlights.tumblr.com, for being such an awesome friend and beta reader. :3


End file.
